Those Who Seek, Find
by heartofShou
Summary: Spain becomes enamored once again with the story "Don Quixote" and decides to remind the world of how cool he once was via a play.  The only problem is that disaster seems to occur at every possibility. Good thing the audience is getting lots of laughs.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own _Axis Powers Hetalia_, its characters, its plot, etc. You know the drill.

PAIRINGS: SpainxRomano

NOTE: This was written for the holiday Spamano exchange on LiveJournal. It was posted under my LJ name so please know that if this looks familiar, that's why. Same person, same story. First time really writing Spamano and I'm kinda iffy on the ending, but I hope you will enjoy. Thanks.

PROMPT:Spain falls marvelously in love with the story of Don Quixote and decides to put on a play! Featuring Romano as Sancho, and Belgium as (the hardly seen in the actual book) Dulcinea. Other countries can fill the rest of the roles as needed. And, of course, hilarity will ensue.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Those Who Seek, Find<strong>_

"_'Cause it's so easy to make believe and_

_Seems you're living in a dream_

_Don't you see that what you need is _

_Standing in front of you?"_

**- Grace Potter, **Something That I Want

* * *

><p>Spain peered out from the thick, velvet stage curtain feeling a mix of jumpy excitement and itchy anxiousness. He had meant for this production to be presented to as many people as possible, but somehow seeing each of the other countries loiter about as they took their individual seats made the audience seem even bigger than he had anticipated. The thing to remember was that this was a good thing. After all, hadn't he been utterly inspired that one day just recently, when he had been cleaning out from under the bed and saw a faded and love worn copy of Miguel de Cervantes's <em>Don Quixote<em>? Oh, how important that book had been to him- and to the world! Yes, for a moment, as he had held that novel in his hands and flipped through the thin, fragile pages, he had been depressed to think that all that had made him great- from his great empires to great works of art- had given way to newer enterprises so that only history remembered. Had it been anyone else, the finding would have faded away into passing nostalgia, but Spain was an optimistic soul. _Don Quixote_ was still considered a great work by those that knew better, and it was still such a fun story even after all this time. So the idea had come to him- with growing excitement and bubbling energy- that it was time to reintroduce the world to _Don Quixote_ and remind everyone just how awesome Spain was and continued to be.

"Romano, you will help me, won't you?" he had cheered, clasping onto his beloved ex-minion's hands after he had bolted from his room with the book under one arm.

"What?" snapped a peeved and confused Romano. "What are you talking about, fucking bastard?"

"We'll do it! Yes, we will!" Spain had cheered, already caught up in glorious visions of several countries rushing to him, proclaiming how they had underestimated him and bemoaning how they had been so blind. He would be loved again! Loved by all!

For weeks he had poured all his time and attention into completing this new goal. A play would be the thing to catch everyone's mind and attention! Immediately he set to producing posters so as to spread the word everywhere. His fellow countries' reactions ranged from bemusement to mild interest; they all gave their word to attend, giving it several times in fact as Spain wanted to be absolutely sure of their presence. That done he set to work on building the sets and the props, seeking perfection in every piece. At meal times and night time, when his bones ached and his hands were blistered from all the long hours of work, he would wearily type away the script until exhaustion finally took him. In his dreams he could hear applause and in his mind's eye, he would bow again and again for the adoring public could not bear to let him leave the stage.

Now, at last, all that hard work was going to pay off. The audience was here and the stage was set. All that was left-

"What did you want?" Romano's voice rudely cut into Spain's train of thought.

The older brunette spun on his heel, a wide grin ready on his face- which promptly collapsed at seeing a very singular Romano, shoulders hunched forward and hands stuck stubbornly in his pockets. This... This couldn't be right. "Romano," Spain peered around the Italy, hoping impossibly that a whole bunch of people were just hiding behind the other as a surprise, "um... Where is everyone?"

Romano's eyebrow arched high with incredulity. Point bluntly, he replied with dripping sarcasm, "Out there, I would assume."

"The actors!" the words burst forth from Spain as for the first time worry set in. "Where are all the actors, Romano? You were supposed to recruit all the actors we need!"

Unperturbed, Romano scratched an ear. At last he drawled, "Oh, is that what you were talking about all those times you called? Your voice was so annoying I couldn't understand a word."

"Romano!" Spain yelped again, ready to pull at his hair. Rather than being a great victory the night was shaping up to be a great disaster. "Everyone is waiting for a play! And we can't put on a play without the actors!" He was having horrible, horrible flashbacks of all the times he had come back home, tired to the bone from all the effort of making and keeping an empire, only to find the house in utter ruins and Romano either stuck under something or locked in some room or napping on some surface. His dear Romano meant well. Spain knew that deep, deep, deep in his heart, but he had really been counting on Romano's help to pulling this venture off. The two of them could do it- there wasn't a doubt in his mind when it came to that point. Now he was not so sure. "You're also supposed to do the role of Sancho! Do you even know the words?"

At this Romano looked miffed. "Calm down, you fucktard," he snapped. "You're freaking out over nothing."

"Nothing!" Spain echoed, incredulously. Words failed him so he just gestured repeatedly toward the curtain. "Nothing?"

A vein started throbbing in Romano's forehead. "The play hasn't started yet!" he yelled back, fists popping out of his pockets only to clench tightly at his sides. "Give me a minute! I'll save your ass like I _always_ do!" Not waiting for a response, he stomped away with an air that could be misread as determined.

* * *

><p>The younger Italy brother clapped his hands together. "I can't wait for Big Brother Spain's show to begin!" he cheered.<p>

In the seat next to his, Germany studied the hand-drawn poster. "It is sure to be interesting," he agreed. "Such an historic and influential work as presented by the country of its origin is sure to be an educational experience." He felt optimistic despite the crayon etched designs.

Japan, two seats over, piped in, "Yes, I am looking forward to that as well. It should be beneficial to learn more about this tale that influenced Western literature."

In-between Germany and Japan, America was munching his way through a large tub of popcorn. Through hand-fulls of buttery goodness tossed into his mouth, he commented, "I think I kinda remember this story. Something about a guy who wanted to be a knight but I think he was crazy? And he ended up fighting a windmill? Hm, that's all I got."

Germany looked up from his poster to quirk an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you recognize the title," he tried to put in the kindest way possible.

America laughed, "I think I saw a cartoon of it once. A long, long time ago. But it was a book right?"

Germany sighed.

"Oh look!" Italy cried out, pointing off to the side. "Big Brother is up to something." His friends next to him turned to look and indeed, Romano was- from the looks of it- having a very harsh discussion with Prussia and France. The two older countries shared several looks and comments between themselves which made Romano even more angrily insistent, yelling with more emphasis. Instead of being bothered Prussia and France laughed and nodded their heads before walking past the flushed Italy brother toward the backstage. "Romano! Romano!" Italy tried to wave his older brother over, but the other didn't seem to hear him. Romano rubbed his face- to smooth away the red from his cheeks?- and hurried away, obscured from view by some countries standing around. "Aww... I wonder what he is up to."

It was hard for Germany to stifle that instinctive bad feeling that always rose up whenever he saw his older brother teaming up with France. Just because he saw them together did not mean they were up to something. He had to learn how to relax. As the lights flickered to signal the show was about to start, he focused keenly on just appreciating the play as it was.

Just as the lights faded into darkness completely, Romano returned to backstage, followed behind by a few countries silhouetted.

* * *

><p><em>"My friends! But what are you doing here?"<em>

_ "Doing what best friends do best- help each other!"_

_ "Now get out there, man! We got you covered."_

_ "But- but..."_

_ "Listen to me. I know. There are times when, in the theater, the show must continue with all perseverance. So do your best and leave the rest to us."_

_ "What?"_

_ "Blondie here means it's going to be a bumpy ride, but don't give up no matter what. We'll pull this off!"_

_ "France... Prussia..."_

_ "Time for hugs later! France, you do narration. I'll handle the stage and stuff."_

_ "Now go out there, Spain! They're waiting for you!"_

* * *

><p>Before the microphone, France cleared his throat and readied the script before him. "Once upon a time," he began airily, in that sophisticated tone he so liked to imitate, "in the region of Mancha in central Spain, there was a gentleman with big dreams." The curtain opened to show Spain intently reading a book, not even quirking a smile as the audience murmured approvingly of the richly intricate backgrounds he had labored over. "While others of his class busied themselves by tending to their estate, our protagonist poured over texts that described in flowery detail all the pursuits and grandeur that knights of legend had embarked on. The more he read every word and interpreted every passage, the more the ways of chivalry became more real to him than the world around him."<p>

"Oh the injustice!" Spain cried indignantly, leering at the text before him as he rose to his feet. "The villainy! The treachery! Do such things go about in the world unpunished?" With a flourish, he grabbed hold of a fireplace poker and proceeded to use it like a sword. What was supposed to be playacting was made more real by the comfortableness Spain would have used with a real sword and as he grinned crookedly with imagination, it was easy to see hints of the feared pirate he had once been. "Glory, justice, and chivalry!"

"Of course," continued France, "such behavior did not go unnoticed and those that knew him feared for his sanity, especially his young niece and housekeeper."

Switzerland and Liechtenstein promptly stumbled onstage as if they had been pushed. Startled, Spain paused briefly in his footwork before continuing, pretending not to notice either of them.

Blushing, the young lady quickly started in on her lines, "O-oh! M-my poor uncle!" Her voice wavered between too low and a tad too low, but she tried her best. At the least, it was very easy to look distressed. "He has lost his wits! Er... What will become of us?" Switzerland just scowled and stood stiffly by her side, dressed hastily in a butler's attire. An awkward silence dragged on for a few, long moments. Liechtenstein looked behind her, unsure, and seeing some sort of signal, the two shuffled off stage. With a sincere sigh, Spain retook his seat and flipped through the book once more.

France cleared his throat again, "The gentleman took no heed to any of their worries for his thoughts were consumed with all the gallantry and pageantry of being a real knight. This at last culminated in one fateful day, when his faithful servant was called for..."

"Sancho!" Spain cried out with bravado, leaping to his feet in a pose. "Sancho, come here!"

Stomping in was a very bedraggled Romano. A cheer came up from Veneciano at seeing his brother as well as some clapping. Romano took the moment to try and smooth down his hair. "What do you want, you lazy loony?" he snapped.

As the audience flinched at Romano's rude attitude, Spain flourished the poker around. "Sancho!" he cried again with gusto. "I will become a brave knight and you, dear Sancho will serve as my loyal squire! We must go out into the world and rid the land of the evils that plague it! We shall battle monsters and save maidens, upholding justice for all!"

"You finally off your rocker?" drawled Romano, crossing his arms perversely. "Why the fuck would we do that?"

"Come, come!" Spain declared, ignoring him. "There is no time to waste! Fetch me my grandfather's armor! Bring me my trusted blade! Saddle my fierce steed! We depart immediately!"

Romano groaned and slapped his forehead with the palm of his right hand. "This can only end in disaster," he grumbled ominously before begrudgingly grabbing up armor and suiting Spain up. As he fulfilled the tasks given to him, the scenery changed from cozy library to the bright Spanish countryside. Out from stage left was pushed a fake horse that rolled on creaking wheels. With just a little difficulty, Spain managed to clamber on top and to also pose as a decently intimidating figure. Indeed, he seemed almost grand as the horse was pulled across the stage by a rope. Tied to back of the horse was a small model donkey, but Romano had once again scurried off stage in a flash.

"And so the gentleman renamed himself as Don Quixote!" France picked up the narrative. "And he and trusty Sancho set out to find incredible adventures. Everywhere they traveled, people stopped and stared at the odd picture they made. Yet valiant Don Quixote paid them no mind.

"Sancho, there is much to do," Spain said grimly, despite the fact that no Sancho rode along behind him. "We must push on and find where we are needed. For it is the solemn duty of every knight to right the wrongs of the world. There are dragons to slay, giants to conquer, and beautiful damsels to rescue from distress."

"And speaking of beautiful damsels," France chuckled with a flirtatious wink, "our Don Quixote was about to meet his lady love."

"Hark!" Spain spoke out as the horse came to a stop. He peered across the stage at nothing. "What is this I see? Oh, my heart! It is the fairest maiden in all the land!"

All heads in the audience leaned to the side to try and see what Don Quixote saw.

"Oh!" a voice cried off stage. "Right! Right! Sorry!" Belgium ran on stage, dressed as pretty peasant girl with a flower basket hanging in the crook of her left arm. Pretending not to see Spain, she began to hum and play with the plastic flowers her character had gathered.

Trying not to laugh, France carried on, "Her name was Aldonza Lorenzo. Though simply a neighboring farm girl, to Don Quixote's eyes and imagination, she was as sweet and lovely as a princess. His tender heart swelled with courtly love!"

A gauntlet covered hand pressed to Spain's chest over his heart. "Could it be?" he swooned. "Oh it is! I cannot mistake it! I have fallen in love and there is no fairer maiden to make a keepsake of my heart. Speak, bright angel! Come forth so that I might adore you more suitably!"

Belgium giggled with good-humor and she raised her eyes from the daisy she had been twirling between her fingers. Before her, out beyond the stage, were the many, many faces watching her, staring at her, their eyes focused on her every move... Suddenly she froze and grew pale. An odd, slightly panicked squeak emitted from the back of her throat.

Spain looked beseechingly to France for help. The blonde quickly caught on and flipped a couple of pages forward in the script. This called for some improvisation to smooth things over. "Er, of course our silly Don Quixote, caught up in inner fantasies, never actually spoke to the girl to bring this romance to life," he narrated with a nervous chuckle. "For him, it was enough to bask in her beauty from afar and conjure up vows of faithfulness and everlasting love within his own mind. Forever she would be _the_ beautiful maiden he was sworn to protect. And of course, she needed a more suitable name. And so Don Quixote's lady love became the figment of his imagination, the ever distant Dulcinea del Toboso."

Belgium's knees were starting to quiver when Romano leaned in from the side, took hold of her elbow, and yanked her quickly off stage. Her relieved cry of, "Oh thank God!" sparked a wave of unintentional laughter. Spain resisted the urge to just lay his head in his hands.

After that the play proceeded a little more smoothly. The sets continued to dazzle as Prussia tried his hand at keeping everything moving on time as well as working the lights. The only one busier was Romano, who was not only caught up in playing the role of the now ever-grumpy and always snarky Sancho, but was constantly rushing around backstage to gather actors and props. It soon became almost a game to the audience to be surprised by who would next appear on stage. Spontaneous performances meant awkwardly delivered lines, but it was received all in good fun and it allowed France to more or less stick to the script. Meanwhile, Spain was in his element, truly bringing Don Quixote to life. Through his performance the audience met a man that was delusional but smart, charming but awkward, who meant well but mostly meddled in circumstances that ended up in near disasters. Things were finally going swimmingly.

"It was a dark and stormy night," was France's setting for the scene. Thunder boomed on stage as the lights flickered for lightning. Spain and Romano, both on mounts, were struggling through rain and fierce winds that looked very realistic. "Our two heroes bravely journeyed on despite the elements. Whereas prudent Sancho's eyes were seeking shelter, the flashes of lightning brought something else to Don Quixote's attention. The windmills, spinning furiously in the raging storm, took on the appearance of loathsome monsters." A giant windmill was presented on stage, so grand that it was hard to believe it truly fit on stage. With its dreary color and creaking pinwheel spinning, it was fairly easy to understand how Don Quixote, in all his quirkiness, could perceive it as something frightening. "His battle ready blood raced and his heart called out to him to do battle!"

"Sancho!" Spain bellowed. "Bring me my lance!"

"What for?" Romano snapped back, trying to shield his face from the storm.

"The monster!" Spain called back, pointing dramatically to the towering windmill. "It must be slain!"

Muttering loudly, Romano handed him the weapon and then fled offstage. Spain did not even see him go as he readied his lance.

France continued, "The powers of Don Quixote's imagination grew stronger and stronger, building up the mightiness of his perceived foe." Some of the lights switched angles, revealing the cleverly hidden design of a monster with fangs and glowing eyes and horns within the frame of the windmill. Not just a few countries gasped in surprise and slight fear to at least see it as Don Quixote saw it. "He studied it, taking in its vileness, its evil. It settled his resolve to be rid of the foul creature, to cast it back into the depths of hell. Yet even as he readied himself- Oh no! What is this?"

Up near the top of the structure, still clambering clumsily up the steps, was Romano, who had hastily donned a puffy princess gown over the top of his Sancho costume. "You bastard!" he growled, breathing hard as his face was flushed from embarrassment and lack of oxygen. "Fucking bastard! You so owe me!"

"Romano?" yelped Spain, so greatly surprised he could not stop himself. What was his troublesome minion doing?

France was so surprised that he lost his spot in the script. Remembering his job, he tried to find it. "Um, yes," he fumbled. "To his great shock and fear, there in the creature's grasp was his beloved, er, Dulcinea."

"Help me," sighed Romano in monotone as he settled in the designated spot. It was made to look as if he were sitting in the palm of the beast, but he ended up looking more bored than threatened. "Oh help. Whatever shall I do? Woe is me."

Wondering what had happened to Belgium, Spain mustered up his enthusiasm. "Dulcinea!" he cried out in dismay. "Never fear! I will save you!"

"Any time now," was Dulcinea's (un)grateful reply.

Hefting up his lance, Don Quixote readied for battle. As the horse charged forward on its rickety wheels, he shouted, "Die, you villain! Die for your treachery!" The point of the lance punctured the frame, munch harder than intended, and became stuck in something. The fake windmill creaked as if the monster were screeching in pain from a wound. Both actors stilled, instinctively pausing to see what would happen next. Spain hesitantly reached to take back the lance, but just as he touched it, the windmill creaked again and began to tilt forward. Romano screamed in true fright now as he began to slide toward the edge of the ledge he had been sitting on. It was too high to jump and too high to fall without injury. Shakily he moved to try and reach the stairs, but the windmill tilted even more and he was forced to hold on to whatever he could for dear life. Yanking his knightly helmet off, Spain's green eyes took in the sight of the faux windmill tilting over him, threatening to crack in half onto the stage. Yet it was not for himself that he feared. "Romano!" he cried, forgetting all about the play and staying in-character. As the younger man's legs slid over the edge, dangling dangerously, Romano screamed again. The helmet dropped with a clang onto the stage floor, forgotten.

"Hold on, hold on!" Prussia called out, working in the background. "I'll get it, I've got it!" The silver-haired country was doing his best to secure the top half with ropes to keep it from falling over. Thankfully, the trick worked and the windmill stabilized. However, Romano still could not climb up.

With a staunch look of determination, Spain tried to place himself just right underneath the brunette. "Romano, let go!" he instructed, stretching his arms up and up as if to pluck the other down.

"Are you crazy?" Romano shrieked, his hold slipping.

"I'll catch you!" insisted Spain, his voice so tight it allowed no alternatives. "I promise I will. Now drop!"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Romano took a deep breath and then let himself fall. It was no dainty descent of a princess being deposited into her rescuer's arms; it was mess of arms, legs, and glittering fabric that crashed into Spain, knocking them both onto the ground. Landing roughly on his back, Spain's hold on Romano tightened, both to be sure he was safe and in desire of protecting him from further harm. The fall had knocked the wind out of him and as he lay there, he could hear France yelling for Prussia to close the curtain and then footsteps were racing over to them. Opening his eyes, Spain gingerly sat up, cradling Romano still. Worry grabbed his heart as the other failed to stir. "Romano?" he murmured, nuzzling the other beseechingly. A hand clasped his shoulder.

"He must've fainted," France reassured, looking pale. "What about you?"

Prussia was on his other side, "Yeah, you ok?"

Before Spain could answer, Belgium ran over too. "I'm so sorry!" she blurted, looking at Romano with deep regret. "It's because I got stage fright. I couldn't bring myself to go on. But Romano said that's no excuse and just grabbed up my dress."

France shook his head, "This kid. He really was determined to make this show a success, hm?"

Spain looked up at him, confused, "What?"

Prussia quirked an eyebrow, "You haven't noticed? This kid's been running around back here like a mad man! Pulling people on stage, giving them their lines, and making sure everything stuck together. He really wanted this to go well for you."

"B-but... He forgot all about it! It's because he didn't get actors sooner-"

"You know how he is talking to other people," France chuckled. "We couldn't tell what he was trying to ask us, but he kept trying. Probably was too ashamed to tell you that he had failed by the time the show as about to start."

"Then he pulled us aside and begged us for help," Prussia continued, also amused as he remembered. "Even though he hated bowing his head before us like that..."

_"Please!" Romano gritted his teeth even as he begged. "He's worked so hard. It means so much to him. So please just help him! I don't want him all sad and upset because then he'll come crying to me and that will suck!" He didn't cry, not exactly, but the corners of his eyes glistened. "Just... This is really important. And you're his friends. So help him..." And after they had agreed he had rubbed at his eyes to erase his moment of weakness._

Spain felt as if the whole world was spinning. Oh Romano... His beloved Romano. He should have known that his minion- his friend, his love wouldn't fail him. To think that he had seen how much this had meant to Spain... The brunette felt as if his heart would burst from gratitude and love. Romano cared, he really cared!

"And it's all been for nothing," Romano murmured softly. Surprised, Spain looked down to see that brown eyes had opened and a resigned frown was on the younger man's face. For now he did not seem bothered that others had been talking about him without permission. "The play is ruined. It's all over."

A hundred words were right on the tip of Spain's tongue but instead he gave in to the impulse to hug Romano against him tightly. Ignoring the obligatory squawks of protest, he nuzzled his dearest one happily. "Oh Romano, Romano," he chuckled. "The important thing is that you're ok. As long as you're with me, I think we can overcome anything." Then he began giving kisses to his minion's forehead, cheeks, and ears. It did not matter that Romano continued to rant in embarrassment; he was far, far too cute blushing so brilliantly like that.

"Argh," Prussia pretended to groan. "_Lovebirds_."

"We are not!" Romano protested before being silenced with a kiss that he gave into a bit too easily.

"Oi!" Switzerland walked over, heedless of the lovey-dovey couple. He gestured toward the still closed curtain. "Everyone is getting antsy. Are you going to continue this play or not?"

Everyone looked to Spain. He thought about it for a few moments, but soon he grinned as if the answer were perfectly obvious to him. "Yes!" he declared, getting to his feet while still holding Romano bridal style. "Yes, it will!" He nodded to France. "And I know just how I want it to end..."

* * *

><p>"Germany! Germany!" Italy murmured as he pulled on said country's sleeve. "What's going on? Is everything alright? Do you think Big Brother is ok?"<p>

Germany wasn't sure but he couldn't say so to Italy. Poor guy would quickly panic. "I'm sure he's fine," he soothed, patting the other on the head. "It's just a play after all so..." Though that last part hadn't seemed the least bit rehearsed. Others around him seemed to be of the same opinion, but no one was sure what to do. Should they wait or go check on them?

Just in time France passed through the curtain with a flourish and went back to the microphone. "Please pardon our delay, ladies and gentlemen," he began, voice smooth as silk. "We were experiencing some technical difficulties. But now we will return to our play!" With a bow to the polite- and relieved- applause, he started up the narrative once more without even looking at the script. "The windmill signified an important turning point for Don Quixote. For how could a horse and a man in old armor defeat a windmill in any way? No, the valiant knight within him had been defeated. And as he had laid there in the grass, under wind and rain, an epiphany dawned on him. Up on his horse he rode home as faithful Sancho led the way. And here we find him, crossing the threshold into his home and his old life..."

The curtain rose again showing the outside of Don Quixote's home, with his niece and housekeeper waiting to welcome him (more or less).

"Oh dearest uncle!" Liechtenstein clapped her hands with delight. "You have returned home! Oh but you are injured? Have you repented of your old ways then?"

Spain entered the stage, somehow conveying the air of a man who has had a change of heart. Behind him, head bowed to cover a blush, was Romano. "Dearest niece! Decent housekeeper!" he greeted. "I have returned to you to recuperate in the comfort of my own estate. Out there in the world, becoming as true a knight as possible, I have managed to learn an important lesson." He paused and smiled back at Romano. "What a fine thing it is to have goals and dreams! Yet to lose out what is right in front of you would be a tragedy in itself. When I was fighting against that windmill and saw my beloved Dulcinea in the grasp of a monster and I could not rescue her try as I might... I don't want that to become true. Losing her mattered more to me than vanquishing a monster for the glory. Being loved by everyone would be nice... but being precious to that certain somebody is a million times better."

"Fool," murmured Romano but with affection. He could tell that Spain had stopped speaking as Don Quixote and the words had started coming from the heart. What a sap.

"So take this lesson to heart, dearest niece," concluded Spain, "and we shall live our lives together from there."

The curtain slowly lowered- and thus the play was over.

Just as all the actors- save Switzerland- heaved a huge sigh of relief, a large round of applause burst forth from the audience.

"They..." murmured Spain with dawning understanding. "They really liked it?"

Louder applause combined with cheers.

Romano looked to Spain with a secretive look, "Looks like it. Be grateful, bastard."

"Romano! Romano!" Spain cheered, gathering the other up in his arms and spinning them around. "They loved it, they loved it! We did it, we did it!"

Spain would later be bombarded with congratulatory remarks as well as several questions. The most common topic was the ending, but Spain would just laugh and explain it no further. It pleased him beyond measure to especially have the younger countries' admiration. Germany admitted that he was sufficiently intrigued to read the book. America gushed about the action, claiming that it would make a great Hollywood film. Japan thought it would be more suitable as an anime and Spain was left wondering which adaption he dreaded more.

For now though Romano sagged in Spain's arms, "Argh... I need a siesta. I'm so tired..."

Beaming with joy, Spain kissed him again and again. "That'll do Romano," he murmured. "You have made Boss so very happy."

*End


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